


I Will Be There

by Meriah



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meriah/pseuds/Meriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hanako is hospitalized for an unknown illness, Satoshi is left bewildered - questioning his own health, how to cope, and how to be a greater son. A story about maturity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Be There

**Author's Note:**

> This story is old. I wrote it back in 2008. Also, it is based on an event from my life.

Satoshi's eyes burned at the lights above him which were bright as lightning. There was an eerie drift between him, his loyal Pikachu, and his concerned friends. Hikari offered soothing words, yet her voice was evaporated by his barrier of shock. Nearby, Takeshi watched him with thoughtful eyes, more so sympathetic of his friend's turmoil than that of Hanako's health. He knew Satoshi for years, and realized the love the son had for his mother.

Hanako was the ideal mother - tender, compassionate, and torn between wishing to shelter her child and allowing him to mature. Since the start of Satoshi's journey - not of training, but his first day of life - she carried a smile to conceal her fears. Raising him had been difficult with the absence of his father. Yet maternal instincts rushed through her, and she loved him with every fiber of her being.

Now all Satoshi could hear were the sounds of inanimate objects in the hospital. He acknowledged this was ludicrous, but it was as if his sense of hearing had been altered. He innately cringed at a buzzing murmur engulfing the room. He noticed the panging of steel against the tile floor as stretchers and carts rushed by. In addition, there was the screech of a chair a man pulled to sit beside a woman, to which Satoshi wondered if they had children. If so, why were they situated in a waiting room? Had they brought in their daughter due to a simple, relatively harmless virus? Could it have been more serious, such as if their adolescent son overdosed on prescription drugs meant to treat his bipolar disorder? If the latter, Satoshi understood the illness in that moment. It seeped with monotonous depression, only to be consumed by the rage and zeal of mania. An endless rollercoaster of emotions, much like his in that damn waiting room.

Then a chair was met next to Satoshi, and rested upon by another friend. It was Kenji, who explained that the professor could not make it but granted his sympathy. Again, Satoshi failed to comprehend these words.

At that moment, his sense of smell turned keen. His stomach churned with revulsion at the hodgepodge of scents. The disinfectant was strong with artificial orange, blended with the equally offensive aroma of lemon floor polish. Even the plastics and papers transmitted odors, and from far off Satoshi could distinctly smell urine. Even the scents of the cafeteria lurked into the waiting room, bringing a mixture of hot beverages, lunch foods, and stale grease.

As the nausea oozed further through his body, he became close to vomiting. The range of smells, blended into one repugnant stench, was unbearable.

Then the trainer glanced at the revolving doors at the front of the waiting room. They offered an entrance and exit to this whitewashed, sterile hell, and also the gateway to freedom. Beyond those doors was a different reality, where danger was present only unsuspectingly. His legs, once numb with anxiety, then thudded rapidly. Maybe he should have bolted out of there. It was his opportunity to forget about  _this -_ his mother in intensive care without an apparent diagnosis. A multitude of symptoms swarmed her, leaving him so ungodly bewildered.

The boy wished he could become temporarily blind to safeguard him from the view before him. The outside now taunted him, while the hospital snickered with its flashes of blood, needles, and doctors adorned in white. This murky panorama, experienced only by those in the building, was too much to endure.

His gaze fell upon the women at the admission desk. One typed at the computer as the other spoke with a patient who stormed up there. "Please wait for a while longer. We assure that a physician will see you," she likely stated with a tranquil composure. The patient hissed a few swears before walking away, then comforted himself with slow, constant pacing.

Satoshi considered asking her how long it would be until he had information about his mother.

One of them noticed him. She motioned for Pikachu to return to his Pokéball. Probably something about this being a hospital for  _humans_  and that the Pokémon Center was down the street, or that rodent-like Pokémon are particularly allergenic to people.

Suddenly, a girl of about seventeen was scurried in, barely conscious and profusely bleeding on a stretcher. Internal injuries. A cracked skull. Broken limbs. A red stream danced from her mouth, cursing her otherwise attractive face, to saturate the bedding supporting her. Satoshi could read the lips of the emergency medical technician speaking with the physician: "Car accident."

A girl of the same age was dazzling with tears. She too was in unsatisfactory condition, but not the extent as the other. All she could do was scream and cry while plowing her fingers through her hair. Judging by her clothing, it was apparent that she usually took great care in her appearance; ironically, now, her tussled hair symbolized the importance of what truly mattered - preserving life. Her blonde tresses were nothing compared to simply being alive.

With his eyes fixed on her, Satoshi witnessed the physician ask the blonde to roll up her sleeves. She hesitated with a desperate gaze that seemed to travel on endlessly. Clearly she was hiding something, and this - in addition to the blood running down her arms - made him suspect there was more to her than merely being a victim in a car accident.

"Please no," her lips motioned. Still after her screams and cries, Satoshi could only interpret gestures and expressions. "Please."

Her eyes fell on his - green merging with deep brown - and the trainer looked away. Was she a self-mutilator? A victim of abuse? A heroin addict? He would never know.

And how strange, no, how  _bizarre_  it was in this room. Thus far, the patients were either adolescents or assumed to be. At his vulnerable age, he wondered if perhaps he would be next.

Time seemed to pass lethargically, as if the concept itself was as impaired like the patients. It crawled with nails digging into the floor, sending out a blaring yowl through Satoshi's veins, and drowning him in lassitude. Yet in truth, time was transpiring as briskly as any firestorm.

Where was his mother?! He came here to see her, not strangers!

At this point, Hikari thought Satoshi must have been deliberately ignoring her. Fury was building in her insides, to which Takeshi convinced her to stay calm. In this environment, it was as if Takeshi was more of an adult than even the actual ones - cool; collected; patient. Surely he had been here on numerous occasions due to his many siblings.

As for Pikachu, he had long ago moved onto Satoshi's lap. With a single paw he reached the boy's face to console him. Satoshi found his hand caressing the creature's ear, but it was mechanically. He was dissociated, as if balancing on the thin line between reality and psychosis.

This felt like déjà vu. He was here before, even in the same chair. The sounds of inanimate objects, the sadness which hung in an anamorphous cloud… all of this… it all happened before. But god, that was so long ago.

Staring blankly, he watched the memories visualize before him:

He was three or four years old, with dirt smeared on his hands from playing in the meadow only an two hours before. Hanako, with her hair cascading down her slender body rather than in a ponytail, embraced her son. She was aware of the situation, yet Satoshi was far too young to comprehend it. What was familiar, though, was her temporary deafness - it was like his in the present.

She whispered something about his father. Something about that she wished he never had to meet him, especially over such dire circumstances. Something about him being a deadbeat father, whatever that meant.

In time, he would come to understand that he was a criminal whom Hanako became involved with during her teenage years. When they made love, in her naivety she never realized he would abandon her for his life of "screwing the system."

So why did she bring her son to that hospital? Why did she allow him to see that man when he was defenseless? Did she feel her son should see his father or was it a lesson? Was she subconsciously enforcing the idea that even the most witty of individuals can succumb to the cloak of illness?

Snapping back to the present, Satoshi noticed three additional people in the waiting room. Two were a couple, likely in their seventies, dressed in garb he had thought had been lost to eras past. The woman, clearly ravaged by wrinkles and white hair, seemed to accept the mayhem of aging without surrendering - she was brilliant, alert, and looked refined in her red polka-dotted dress and matching shoes. Her husband mobilized himself with a well-crafted cane, designed in polished wood with a brass base to secure his hand upon. They conversed about trivial things, and Satoshi again made out the sentences. Something about the weather, a dance at the senior center ("If only your knees worked properly!"), and perhaps stopping for coffee at the diner erected decades ago.

The man smiled at the last comment, recalling when he first stepped into the diner. She was beautiful in her prime, with gracious blue eyes to contrast against her pink waitress uniform. Him and his friends kept blowing catcalls to her… only for her to throw a salt shaker at them! Yet after that ridiculous event, which included him convincing her manager not to fire her because of her "inappropriate reaction", she bestowed him with a grateful smile. They dated from that night on, married, and had been faithful for all those years.

However, there was still the third person to their party. He seemed lost under the blanket which covered all but his face. A unfathomable face; an enigmatic face; a face that had seen wars and divorces and the funeral of his only child. His life carried sorrowful memories, so foreign to the happy couple. They attempted to understand but were incapable. And now his own memories were being devoured by dementia. A nurse's aid asked if he would like a glass of water, yet her words reflected off him like a mirror. Studying him in depth, Satoshi questioned if his soul was reflective as well; something just to look at, and nothing more.

The man gave no reaction whatsoever. He did not speak. Did not move. Did not even bring his gaze away from the wall. A victim of brain disease, haunting memories, and the deathly breath of time.

The lucid man, whom Satoshi assumed to be his brother, turned his attention to the nurse's aid. It was implied through his gestures that he was apologizing for the ill person's unresponsiveness.

The aid remained pleasant, but was clearly hiding her disturbance to the situation. She said a physician would meet with them shortly as she turned her attention to other patients.

The aid was about forty-five, well beyond her ability to conceive. She had worked there for years. To deal with the trauma, she accepted indifference and half-assed, artificial concern. She probably had paradoxical children (one a delinquent or slut; the other in honors courses and an athlete), a bland marriage, and bills sinking her further into debt. The dark circles under her eyes were deeply stamped into pale skin - skin that had not been kissed by the sun's rays for a long time. Her duties were carried out automatically, and Satoshi caught her watching the clock.  _Only an hour until my break,_ Satoshi pictured her thinking.

Satoshi, too, glanced at the clock. 7:28 PM.  _I've been here for three hours and they still haven't told me anything,_ Satoshi thought with a growing temper.  _When are they going to tell me what's wrong?!_

His stare once again fell upon the women at the admission desk. They were unoccupied now, chattering over one-dimensional things, with childish giggles and smiles.

_That is enough._

_I am not waiting any longer._

_Especially when I watch these two being so apathetic, so cold to a serious situation. She may just be a person to them, but she… she's my mother._

With weary steps, he forced himself to the desk. And he asked how long the wait would be.  
  


* * *

None of that truly happened.

Rather, all of that - from the smells and sounds to the people - flooded my imagination when I learned my mother is in the hospital.

I called Dr. Yukinari Okido from the Pokémon Center to announce good news. I had recently earned a new badge! Yet instead, he requested for me to be silent as he gave ominous, petrifying information: Mother developed an unknown illness. She believed she could pull through it without treatment, but it became far too much to endure. Damn, even when in poor health she is as stubborn as I am.

She was hospitalized last night. Various tests need to be administered before a diagnosis can be determined.

And I cannot see her.

**I cannot see her.**

Although I abhor hospitals, this in itself would not prevent me from seeing her. Why I detested hospitals was beyond my understanding anyway. Perhaps it was because of the event when I met my father that one and only time.

But that is something I would rather think about at another time.

No, no, the reason I could not visit her was because she told me to continue with training. She said it would be senseless to ask Ookido-Hakase or someone else to pay for a plane ticket, and she disapproved of that anyway. "Why get others involved? I'll be okay," I could see her saying aloud.

Ookido-Hakase insisted that if she wanted me to come, he would have willingly covered my airfare. However, she was adamant that I should not let the situation consume me.

"She said she misses you very much, but would rather see you at a happier time." He informed me. In the backdrop, I spotted Kenji expressing his sympathies.

"But I need to see her. Right now." I yowled, almost choking on tears. "She needs me!"

"She said there is no point in coming if you're going to be sitting by her hospital bed. No, Satoshi, respect her wishes. See her when she is well."

All I can do is sit here, staring at my lunch. Normally I would devour any meal, but I am nauseous right now. The food reminds me of the cafeteria items and other odors from my imagination - all of those smells collided to remind everyone of illness and foreboding death.

If a Pokémon on my team knew Fly, I would be at the hospital right now. Luckily they do not, as it is keeping me from breaking my mother's request. Maybe this is why she allowed me to become a trainer on my tenth birthday despite her inner turmoil… so I would never have to deal with something like this…

Maybe I am blessed to be so far away.

Yet I cannot help but think that somewhere, deep within her core, she wants me to be there. She wants to smile at my presence. She wants to embrace me. She wants me to remember that her love is eternal.

But I will listen to her request. I will stay here.

Hang in there, Mom. And I promise I will see you when your health improves.


End file.
